


A Delicate Balance

by sassenachpetals



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Jedi, Light Angst, Mistakes, Prophecy, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-09-24 05:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassenachpetals/pseuds/sassenachpetals
Summary: A long lost fact to all but the Jedi Council: thousands of years ago, the Jedi Temple was built atop a Sith Shrine.  When Qui-Gon Jinn and his Master unwittingly discover the shrine, Qui-Gon's entire understanding of the Order and his role in the Force is brought into question. The consequences of the shrine's presence and all that follows will shape him into the Master he grows to be...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first journey into writing fan-fiction. I recently discovered that canonically a Sith Shrine once existed beneath the Temple and thought it deserved to be explored. Bear with me and enjoy. :)

Early morning glow was rising to meet the Coruscant surface, if it could be called that. What appeared to be a surface was in actuality a sea of sky-scrapers and tightly compacted rooftops of connected buildings miles and miles above the planet’s physical surface. Figures rushed along narrow streets and wide boulevards alike, gathered in huddled masses on balconies and rooftops. Each of them mostly lived day-to-day. There was a sense of blissful ignorance of the fact that every detail of their lives were artificially fashioned to mimic a natural one—and equally ignorant of the glorious sunrise above their heads.

Resurfacing from his meditation, Qui-Gon Jinn marveled at the serenity a simple sunrise brought to the hustling, ever-pulsing traffic of the skyways. From his vantage point in the Contemplation Gardens, he could see as far as his eyesight allowed him without durasteel buildings obstructing his view. The gardens being located at the top of the Jedi Temple afforded him rare opportunities for reflection. This connection to the light and skyline grounded him as much as the feel of garden grass beneath him did. As a student in the Jedi Order, and a resident of the Temple, he was lucky to have such luxuries. Many were not, he told himself.

Or rather, Dooku was constantly telling him. Reminded of His Master’s presence, he discreetly glanced over to the regal form sitting cross-legged next to him in the grass, still in meditation. Dooku’s serene features gave no trace of thought, the textbook example of inward thought. His tall brow and jaunted cheekbones conveyed overbearing royalty, which often frightened those he met. Even after two years’ apprenticeship, Qui-Gon found his Master somewhat intimidating; he was hard to read and even harder to pry with questions. It was usually better to wait a moment out; Dooku would reveal only what he thought pertinent to his apprentice. Qui-Gon returned his gaze to the horizon, guessing that his Master was still deep in contemplation.

“How was your meditation, Padawan?” Dooku asked. Qui-Gon felt himself jump slightly at the sudden, deep resonance of his Master’s gravelly tones. He turned to look at Dooku and was met by his Master’s steely eyes. Just as impossible to read as ever, the young boy thought to himself.

“Pleasant. Thank you, Master,” Qui-Gon replied.

“Pleasant,” Dooku repeated. His voice gave away nothing. “How so?”

Qui-Gon thought for a moment. “Productive,” he corrected.

A pause. His Master was not satisfied with that answer either. Qui-Gon sighed.

“I was thinking about how far we are from the actual surface of Coruscant. And—and just how busy the planet is,” Qui-Gon explained, not yet sure the best words to use.

“And why would that be a productive thought to contemplate?” Dooku could be infuriating sometimes. He believed in the extreme intentionality of words. Qui-Gon paused to more fully formulate his thoughts, his young forehead wrinkling, searching for specificity.

“Because people live these busy lives and forget just how artificial everything around them is.” He gestured to the metallic spires climbing into the sky in front of them.

“I see.” This time, Dooku continued. “You are questioning the relationship between artificiality and purpose. With the presence of one, do we lose the other?”

“Yes, Master.” More silence. Dooku was waiting to hear what conclusion Qui-Gon had reached. “Obviously, all beings seek purpose and I see the value in that. I’ve read that on planets like Kashyyk and Naboo, a connection to nature is valued as a part of health; it’s important I suppose. But the artificial, technology, all of it--life is so much better with it. And Coruscant’s citizens get to have all of those benefits.”

Dooku stood. “A belief shared by many, my young apprentice,” he spoke, a tinge of flatness detectable.

_I misstepped_, Qui-Gon thought to himself, his heart falling. However small a misstep, a failing none-the-less. Independent as the boy was, he still sought to make his Master proud. Often, Dooku would comment on this desire, calling it young and foolish, a “naïve substitute for inner peace.” That always stung a bit.

Qui-Gon rose and waited for Dooku’s next instructions. Observing his Master, he watched Dooku search the gardens for something. Suddenly, Dooku bent his tall figure and picked up a substantial stone. He guided it swiftly through the air using the Force. It came to a stop inches from Qui-Gon’s face.

“Consider this rock closely. Contemplate its nature.” Dooku dropped his chin. “Hold it there.” Qui-Gon felt his lightsaber leave his belt involuntarily. It began to circle the stone. “And keep your lightsaber in orbit around the rock.”

Qui-Gon understood. Eager to make up for his previous misstep, he gathered the Force around him to steady the rock in mid-air and continue the lightsaber’s trajectory around it. While an experienced Master like Dooku gave the task barely a second thought, Qui-Gon, now aged 14 years and only a year into his apprenticeship, still required his full attention for the trick.  
The rock was easily the shape of a small astromech droid. It was weathered by the elements—Coruscant was no stranger to the occasional storm and foul conditions—and its surface was porous. Its miniscule peaks and valleys took his mind’s eye on a journey through time. The stone spoke to him like a friend. He felt the Force glow warmly with the Light, as the sounds of Coruscant and the bustle around him disappeared from his consciousness. Hypnotically, his lightsaber continued its path around and around and around. Qui-Gon felt his heart’s rhythm slowing and falling in line with the pulse of the lightsaber’s orbit. Almost as from a distance above himself, he viewed the scene with detachment. His mind began to clear as the Force wrapped the stone, lightsaber, and himself in a cocoon—

“You’re a bantha, Omar!” a crisp voice called out in the quiet.

Qui-Gon’s mind was snapped back into his body and his focus shattered, sending the stone and saber clattering to the ground in front of him, with the stone landing squarely on his foot. Qui-Gon yelped and whispered, “Blast!” shooting a glance towards his Master. Dooku’s face betrayed only slight amusement, not even turning to look at the disruption that had broken his apprentice’s focus. Qui-Gon did not need to look either. He knew who had sliced through his reverie. He dropped his gaze to the ground.

A young Jedi fluidly stopped in her tracks when she realized who she’d interrupted. She gave a graceful bow of the head to Dooku. “Master Dooku.” Her yellow eyes darted brightly at her friend. “Qui-Gon. My apologies.”

She stood respectfully, waiting for Dooku’s all-clear. Being Qui-Gon’s best friend, she had heard Qui-Gon’s frustrations and experience with Dooku—she knew the older Master was an uncanny stickler for decorum. The silence from Dooku was killing him; he felt his embarrassment rise. Qui-Gon ached to have her dismissed before his Master began reprimanding him. He knew from experience Dooku had no qualms about disciplining him in front of his friends. Qui-Gon’s eyes had not left the ground beneath his feet.

In some stroke of compassion, Qui-Gon felt a wave of reassurance emanate towards him from his master. Dooku would have pity on him this time.

“Thank you, Padawan Tahl for your apology. You may go.” Tahl’s eyes shot a look towards Qui-Gon, who had raised his gaze from its place of shame. He saw the warm glow of sunrise bouncing off her face, complimenting her caramel skin. _How lovely_, he thought, almost without realizing, but quickly brushed the fleeting thought aside.

Tahl gave another curt bow of the head and whipped on her heel back the way she came. Qui-Gon saw briefly that she rejoined another of his closest friends, Omar Dodd. The two picked their pace up to a jog, clearly glad to be on a path away from Dooku.

It was at that moment, Dooku lowered the stone back to its spot. Taking his master’s cue, Qui-Gon restored his lightsaber to its rightful place on his belt.

“Padawan, do you know what went wrong?” Dooku asked. He had fixed his even, steady stare on Qui-Gon.

“I was distracted, Master.”

Dooku cocked his head. “You were distracted?” he intoned. Qui-Gon began to feel a kind of heat rising to his face. His master could be so infuriating. _It was just a rock_.

“I got distracted by my friends and dropped the rock. It won’t happen again,” he responded, desperate to never feel this embarrassed again.

All he got was silence from his master. Then Dooku turned and began walking away.

“Follow, Padawan.” Qui-Gon lurched his awkwardly long limbs into step with Dooku’s, limping slightly from that blasted heavy rock.

\--------------------------

After taking a painfully long ride in the lift, master and apprentice had traveled down the Temple to the first floor and out into the busy walkway at the Temple’s entrance. Without hesitation, they joined the flow of the diverse people traveling in all directions. The crowd more or less gave them space, none wanting to travel too closely to a clearly hurried pair of Jedi, with Dooku utilizing his stark appearance and manner as a tactic of intimidation.

Qui-Gon’s mind left the matter of the rock behind once they’d exited the Temple. His senses were quickly bombarded by the life-forms around him and he found himself imagining their lives. Who was hurrying to make it to their workplace on time, and who was simply hurrying because they were used to doing so? Who was anxious about their meal that night and who was anxious about the zooming of the vehicles above them? Qui-Gon had a kind of concern for the beings streaming by him. They fascinated and intrigued him.

Before long, Qui-Gon realized where they were headed: the café hot-spot of Dexter Jettster. Dooku had formed a friendship with the brash, loud Besalisk many years ago. From what Qui-Gon understood, his Master’s relationship with Dexter was formed solely on the basis of politics. He’d been present for their meandering, opinionated discussion of the state of the Republic. They shared a cynicism for current affairs. As far as Qui-Gon was concerned, the subject of politics was as bland and unsubstantial as porridge.

Per usual, Dooku led his apprentice to a booth near the kitchen. Qui-Gon much preferred a seat by the window, where he was able to at least entertain himself by watching the passerby’s during these meetings of the mind; but he was in no position to voice his preference today, he thought. Shoving his disappointment aside, he slid into the booth.

“Heeeey, old buddyy,” came the sluggish, accented declaration of the jovial establishment owner. Dexter Jettster clapped a colossal hand on each of the Jedi’s shoulders. Having four hands, he was free to scratch his arse with the remaining two. “Come to retract your misguided opinion on the Melida/Daan tariffs?” A dangerously sharp smirk smeared Dexter’s features.

“Hello, old friend.” For the first time today, at least, a flicker of a smile lit up Dooku’s eyes. “I’m afraid I must warn you: my apprentice and I will be having a quick refreshment before we are on our way. We have a rather full schedule, I’m afraid, with quite a few things to discuss.” Qui-Gon silently gulped at the warning meant for him.

Dexter threw a wink at Qui-Gon. “Oh, don’t be too vague there, Dooku. You may just give the lad a heart attack…I see our disagreements will need to wait.” With a final stiff pat on each of their shoulders, the giant lumbered away chuckling.

“Do you know what happened with the stone?” Dooku asked, as a serving droid delivered a brown substance to their table.

Qui-Gon was silent, unwilling to dig his grave further. _I don’t know what you want me to say!_

“You did not ‘get distracted,’ as you put it. You lost focus. Do you understand?” Dooku’s question was not accusatory; rather he was gauging his padawan’s comprehension. Understanding suddenly dawning on Qui-Gon, the young apprentice nodded. “Padawan, no one controls your focus—no one except you. You alone. No one can take it from you. A wise Jedi Master once wrote, ‘In this journey, the present demands consideration; all things else, abandonment.’”

“I understand, Master.” And he meant it. Qui-Gon’s confusion at his failing sated, his curiosity now flared. “Who said that, Master? It’s not something Master Yoda would say, I don’t think.”

Dooku let one of his rare chuckles escape his lips and sipped his beverage. “No, you’re right there. It was written by a Jedi Knight named Saph Urk. She lived many centuries ago and dealt mostly in prophecies, though her philosophy remains the most quoted.”

“Prophecies?” Qui-Gon had heard mention of the prophecies only in dismissive passing by his Temple instructors.

“It is suggested that the Force can give us a glimpse into things to come. Not exact predictions, mind you—only warnings, or signs if you will.”

“So, no one can predict the future, but we can…anticipate it?” Qui-Gon felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. However, a dear friend of mine, Sifo Dyas, has been known to see visions of the future.” Dooku’s voice, though usually noncommittal, now contained a note of tension.

Unnerved by Dooku’s sudden show of interest, Qui-Gon prodded further.“Visions? How?”

“Dreams, mostly. Sifo never confided the details in me, being a few years older than I. And we’ve more or less…lost touch…since his ascent to the Jedi Council.” Qui-Gon found Dooku’s choice of the word ascent here an odd one. Even with his curiosity piqued, Qui-Gon noted the slight bitterness in Dooku’s voice.

But Qui-Gon shook his head. “Master Yoda says we must not put stock in visions.”

Silence as both sipped their drinks. Dooku was watching Qui-Gon’s wheels turning. A sudden solemnity shrouded the booth they sat in. “Padawan, there are more things in this universe than we could attempt to understand.”

At this, Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. “But we have the Force.”

“The Force merely provides some framework of grasping what is important. It does not reveal all.” Dooku threw back the final contents of his mug and stood. Qui-Gon, still curious, did the same. Placing a few credits on the table, Dooku led the way out of Dexter’s cafe. 

“I think today is a good day for a stroll,” Dooku announced.


	2. Chapter 2

“Padawan, you mentioned that the merits of all the technology around us improved the lives of Coruscant’s citizens, did you not?”

Master and apprentice had been walking the streets of Coruscant’s upper levels for a while now, in relative silence. In the two years of Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship, Dooku had often made a point to take his apprentice out into the world, so to speak, exploring Coruscant’s upper levels and business districts. He had told Qui-Gon that the most effective Jedi were those who recognized their role as citizens of the universe, first and foremost. Today, though, Qui-Gon noticed they were heading towards the lower levels.

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon replied. The pair were making their way through a richly adorned marketplace boasting of colorful fabrics and hand-made trinkets. His senses flowed with spices, tangy citrus aromas, and the dull roar of hundreds of conversations swirling around him. A large variety of beings inhabited this market. As they walked, Qui-Gon found himself filtering through the noise to focus on one argument here, another conversation there, a couple enjoying each other’s company. Watching others was perhaps his favorite past-time.

Dooku offered no further commentary, but instead continued his habit of silence. Qui-Gon picked up on an interaction between a slight, unassuming shop-keeper and a wealthy patron. The shop-keeper boasted what appeared to be hand-painted japor trinkets ranging from small dish trays to hanging decorative pieces. The wood gave off a calming, tingling pulse into the Force and their appearance was quite pleasing. Qui-Gon had long resigned himself to the realization that he had little to no artistic ability, content to revel in the work of others. His friend, Tahl, had a keen eye and skilled artist’s hand, able to sketch most anything.

In this instance, the patron was berating the humble shop-woman’s prices, with no sincere respect for her artwork. Qui-Gon had half a mind to purchase a piece with his meager student’s allowance just to make a point. The Force suddenly hummed with gentle, discomforted rings. Qui-Gon felt Dooku go on the alert, as well, though no one would have picked up on their subtle shift in posture and pace. His legs tensed for action and his hand hovering slightly closer to his lightsaber, Qui-Gon’s eyes roamed the marketplace. Suddenly, they landed on a darker area of the market, a cave-like entrance between two booths catching his attention. The Force gave him an approving pulse, letting him know he’d honed in on the potential trouble.

“Master—there.”

“Good eye, Padawan,” Dooku said, his narrowed eyes confirming Qui-Gon’s feelings.

Without another word, they adjusted their trajectory and slipped in between the two booths, willing any onlookers to ignore their presence. What they found was no cave, but rather a darkened tunnel entrance, a door precariously hanging off its hinges. The fact that the door had hinges instead of an anti-grav track indicated that it was incredibly old.

Qui-Gon glanced at his master, unclear what the entrance’s function was. Dooku’s brows furrowed. He picked up on his apprentice’s unspoken question.

“A service entrance. Long-abandoned, but not without its fair share of traffic.” He pointed to footprints on the ground then the hinges. “Hinges this old would show significant amounts of rust without use or upkeep.”

“Perhaps, the government workers still maintain areas like this?”

“Perhaps,” Dooku ceded, his voice unreadable.

After considerable amount of force—the door was rather heavy—the pair was able to create an opening large enough for them to squeeze through. Pausing for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the extreme darkness, they took stock of their surroundings, sending out feelers through the Force. A noncommittal buzzing was all that answered them. Dooku pulled out his light-clip, illuminating the tunnel in which they were now standing. Qui-Gon did the same and the two began a wary trek deeper into the new space. The tunnel was fairly small and Dooku a large enough man that he had to crouch while he walked. Even Qui-Gon, young as he was, found himself ducking his frame slightly.

“It’s strange, Master,” Qui-Gon spoke up, carefully sidestepping pieces of track and debris. “I can’t read the Force well here. Almost as if it’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t decipher…”

“I’m experiencing something similar, Padawan,” Dooku responded, dodging some hanging electrical wire. “In these moments, we must rely on our physical senses until it becomes clear.”

They were covering ground quite quickly, following the twists and turns of the track. The atmosphere felt slightly damp and every surface glistened with moisture.

“I wasn’t aware Coruscant had tunnels like these,” Qui-Gon remarked.

“It is very old, perhaps centuries. I’ve only heard of these service tunnels being utilized in the time of the Old Republic. Certainly before many of the structures on the upper levels were built. I recall that tunnels like these were often used as service tunnels, where malfunctioning public transports would be sent for maintenance.”

Qui-Gon nodded silently, his focus suddenly on something else: an uneasiness was beginning to gather, a feeling that disrupted him to his core. He balanced himself on Dooku’s presence next to him.

“I feel it, too,” Dooku confirmed, stopping in his tracks. Without a word, they both looked to the right. Just a wall. But something prompted Qui-Gon to put a hand on his lightsaber. They both stood still, the Force just as unreadable as before as though muted. Qui-Gon took a breath.

“You said it earlier, Master," Qui-Gon allowed himself a small smile. "We must rely on our physical senses.”

Qui-Gon stepped forward and reached out a hand, placing his full weight on the surface—

\--only to find himself tumbling through the space where a solid wall was only moments before.

He regained his balance and whirled around. He saw an opening in the tunnel where the wall should have been. Dooku stood in the main tunnel, looking at the space without seeing. Qui-Gon realized he must still see a wall. Dooku looked stunned. Then his Master lifted his hand and passed through the opening. Surprise registered on his face and he turned to look back from whence he came. A seriousness hung in the air.

“An illusion,” Dooku said, a tinge of worried interest coloring his deep voice. “I’ve heard of instances when a Jedi’s perceptions can be deceived so as to distort reality.”

“What could—“ Qui-Gon began, when he felt the answer hit his body like a collision. The dark side of the Force rumbled near them, as looming as it was invisible.

Both men drew their lightsabers in tandem, lighting the new space with bright green auras. Battle ready, they walked slowly deeper. This new tunnel was much larger than the previous one, its ceiling too tall to be seen. As they walked, they felt the dark side growing until their feet unconsciously stopped. Silence hung thick and viscous.

In front of them was a large single-story structure. It’s stone foundation screamed its age, as cracks oozed dangerously along its surface. A towering monolith rose out of the center of the structure, challenging the eye to reach its peak. A shiver ran through Qui-Gon’s spine and he swore he could tangibly see the dark side flowing like lava around the monolith. He was uncertain what material the towering form was comprised of. Any light near it seemed to disappear in its vacuous, obsidian mass.

Qui-Gon was not easily frightened, but the sheer evil emanating from this shrine unnerved his Jedi calm. He felt like running. Never before had he seen anything like this. But Dooku was already closing the distance between themselves and the building. Qui-Gon followed hesitantly and soon they were close enough that he felt his hot breath hitting the ancient stone wall.

“Master?” His voice cracked a bit.

“I am unsure, Padawan,” Dooku’s own voice an almost reverent whisper. The Jedi Master slowly turned and began pacing the exterior of the structure.

_What is this place?_ Qui-Gon brought himself to glance once more at the colossal obelisk rising out of the center of the building, his eye catching some kind of markings near the base. Noticing that Dooku had disappeared, most likely doing his own reconnaissance, Qui-Gon forced himself towards a nearby door, dumbstruck.

The rectangular door was carved from wood, nothing strange in its make. The markings on the door, however, made it stand out from the rest of the structure. They were similar to the markings on the obelisk. In fact…Qui-Gon traced his finger along the symbols.

His mind brought up images from his studies in the Temple with Jocasta Nu. She had led a short seminar about the first Sith uprising, as a means of staying busy following her leave of the Jedi Council. While the focus of the class had been on the Sith’s defeat, Qui-Gon recognized the ancient Sith hieroglyphs on the mysterious door he now touched. Shocked more into fear, he withdrew his hand. He closed his eyes, breathing out the fear and letting as much peace back in as he could. Quickly he jogged towards where Dooku had disappeared around the side of the building.

He found his master studying some steps leading to the base of the monolith. They were worn from decades of use. Dooku was tracing the bowed center of each step. Slowly, Dooku turned his gaze upward. He paused thinking.

“Master,” Qui-Gon cleared his throat. “I recognized some markings I found on a door; they’re also mirrored here.” His voice cut through the aggressive quiet, as he gestured to the monolith. The monolith seemed to be offended by reference to its presence as Qui-Gon felt another shiver run down his spine. “They’re Sith.”

“I had gathered as much, as well.” Dooku shook his head slightly, bringing himself out of whatever reverie had also taken Qui-Gon. “A Sith shrine, most likely.” He paused. “I also believe we are directly under the Temple. I recognize the characteristics of its foundation.” He pointed to the cave’s ceiling, covered in stalactites; but sure enough, Qui-Gon recognized the foundation of the Temple, as well. All Jedi were required to study the blueprints and construction of their home.

“A Sith shrine under the temple,” Qui-Gon’s mind raced to grasp all of the ramifications. “How—how is this possible?”

“The dark side has a presence on every planet, Padawan.”

Qui-Gon felt his frustration flare.

“I mean how is it here and no one knew? How is it the Jedi don’t know?” Qui-Gon asked.

“There a great many things the Jedi don’t know,” Dooku quipped, his own frustration briefly showing.

“How is it that the Council doesn’t know!” Qui-Gon responded, more forcefully than he’d intended. Even now, his master demanded concise wording. He took a breath. The uneasiness of this place was beginning to affect his emotions. “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

Dooku took no notice. Even in the dark, Qui-Gon could see in his master’s eyes a sudden realization.

“They may very well know,” was all he said. Qui-Gon, stunned, took in this statement. Was the Council really capable of covering this up? On the other hand, was it feasible that they simply were unaware the shrine existed?

The two stood a moment—or an eternity—longer at the base of the shrine before finally making their way back to the service tunnel, their nerves frayed and the Force urging a warning.


	3. Chapter 3

In the cavernous space of the Jedi Council Chambers, navy twilight flooded through the towering windows cut by the orange streaks of vehicle streamlights. The pattern the colors created was wild and unruly, constantly shifting—mirrored by the chaotic energies of Qui-Gon’s master. Dooku’s presence simmered outward from where they were standing in the center of the pristine room, a volatile pillar of anger. In answer, every surface glinted with metallic promise, an antithesis of the ambivalence with which the Council Members regarded the two Jedi.

The Council had been called abruptly at this late hour after Dooku had burst in on a discussion between Yoda and Oppo Rancissus. The two masters had been enraptured over a hologram of some documents, the contents of which Qui-Gon had not been able to determine.

“We must speak,” Dooku had said flatly.

“Master Dooku? Regards what, this does?” inquired the small-statured Jedi Master. Yoda’s eyes twinkled with an amused curiosity, lighting up the green tones of his face, though surely he had sensed the serious nature of Dooku’s statement.

“I require the presence of the entire Council.”

At this, Rancissus and Yoda had exchanged a glance before sending out a summons of the remaining ten members. Slowly the members had trickled in, only slightly caught off guard to find a master and apprentice in the center of the antechambers at this hour. Each had taken their seat in turn, trepidation clear in their postures. Only Yoda had seemed truly calm, his hands wrapped around his _gimer_ staff.

Qui-Gon now turned to see the twelfth and final member of the council, Sifo Dyas, stride towards his cushioned, low-seating chair. His face was much less calm, a frustration wrinkling his forehead—until he saw who it was that had prompted this meeting. At the sight of his old friend, Dyas smiled nodding slightly in Dooku’s direction. For Dooku’s part, he did not acknowledge the gesture.

“Now all gathered we have, perhaps shed light on this important summons you will, Dooku, hm? Looking white as snow, your apprentice is,” Yoda observed.

This caused Qui-Gon to blush and his master to bristle slightly. He was in for, certainly, what would be one of the most tense Council meetings these walls had ever seen. He couldn’t blame his master’s dour mood. Everything the boy had seen today had rattled him and he himself was anxious for answers from the Council. _There must be a reason for this_.

“Masters, I believe a grave oversight has taken place,” Dooku began. “As you know, my Padawan and I often travel the streets of Coruscant to gain further understanding of its political and social machinations. This afternoon, while walking the Satuun market, my apprentice and I happened upon a service tunnel—a tunnel which had not seen traffic for many, many years. We both felt a disturbance in the Force. We were unable to pinpoint its source, so we explored further. What we found demands an explanation.”

At this, Qui-Gon saw Master Saesee Tiin sat forward in his seat and raise an eyebrow. “Demands?” The mood in the chambers shifted from general aloofness to an almost threatening neutrality. Qui-Gon noted the change, and he was sure his master did, too.

Not phased in the least, Dooku responded, “Yes. As we made our way through the tunnel, it became increasingly apparent that the dark side was present. We discovered an illusion of the mind, which almost succeeded in masking the cause of its presence. However, my apprentice was able to see through this illusion and we stumbled upon something I believe the Council has kept a secret,” Dooku said with a dangerous sharpness.

Qui-Gon focused on the masters around him, yearning to pick up on any reactions they may have. Instead, he found a careful…nothingness. He blinked. Only Sifo Dyas seemed to register what had been said; a shadow had passed over his face. Qui-Gon could tell that all the masters seemed to be silently weighing their next response. An eternity passed before Kit Fisto spoke.

“What exactly did you find, Master Dooku?” Fisto spoke pleasantly enough, but Qui-Gon knew they were dancing precariously on a line.

“I think, perhaps, you know very well what we found,” Dooku replied.

“You jump to conclusions, Master. Enlighten us.” Fisto interlaced his hands.

“We found a stone structure surrounding a monolith of great proportions. At the base of the monolith were carvings, which my Padawan correctly decoded as Sith hieroglyphs. Above the structure was—“

“How do you know the characteristics of Sith markings, Padawan Jinn?” asked Oppo Rancissus, the youngest of the Council members. His voice held no discernable judgment, yet Qui-Gon felt his face flush.

“Every Jedi has the right to—“ Dooku began, but was cut off from a glare by Rancissus.

“Let the boy speak for himself,” replied Rancissus.

“I studied—well, that is, Master Nu in the Libraries led a seminar on ancient Sith history. The hieroglyphs were…briefly touched on and I recognized some of the markings,” Qui-Gon responded, his breath slightly catching in his throat. Being questioned by the Council was nothing to laugh at. Dooku, however, was not so intimidated.

“As I was explaining,” Dooku continued, “above the structure, I noticed the cracked foundation of the Jedi Temple.”

“If you are so concerned about the building of the Temple, perhaps a glance into its blueprints and design would provide illumination of its soundness,” answered Yael Poof, his long careening neck placing his eyes feet above the other Masters, even seated.

“Master, we are not questioning the integrity of the Temple,” Qui-Gon attempted to explain. It seemed to him everyone was avoiding the topic. _This; this is why I hate politics_.

“No, indeed not, Padawan,” came the voice of Saesee Tiin. He focused now on Dooku, “Instead, you come in here with an attitude of righteous indignation and expect--“

“Master Tiin,” Yaddle warned, her caramel eyes narrowing in displeasure at her fellow Council Member. “I believe Master Dooku is entitled to alert us of his findings and we are obliged to hear them out.”

At this point, a murmuring, low din of conversation filled the chambers, Master speaking to Master. Qui-Gon had never heard more than one member speak at a time.

“I _am_ indignant, Master Tiin; but I am also seeking answers,” Dooku said, making no effort to raise his voice. “You speak as though these are in fact _my_ findings.”

“Master Dooku, what exactly are you asking the council?” Even Piell burst through the barrage of conversation. The master’s slanted ears and piercing eyes spoke volumes—he, too, had had enough of dancing around the issue. Immediately, all whispers stopped.

Dooku straightened. “I find it hard to believe that the Council, with its pristine accounts, did not have prior knowledge of something as important as this directly under their noses. Centuries of records have been passed down since the building of this Temple. So, my question is this: was or was not the Council aware of the presence of a Sith shrine?”

Yoda had been studying Dooku’s features, finally landing on Qui-Gon’s own. Qui-Gon heard a small sigh from the Jedi.

“Yes,” Yoda declared.

Dooku’s reaction was physical, swaying slightly where he stood. He lowered his chin, paling slightly, if that was possible for a man naturally sheet-white.

“Yes?” Dooku repeated.

“Aware is the Council,” spoke Yoda.

“Then I was correct.” Dooku clenched his jaw. A silence. “This was a cover-up.”

Yoda chuckled. “Mmm. Strong word, is it not?”

“I don’t believe so, Master.” Dooku’s voice was steely. “Vital knowledge regarding the presence of the Dark Side has been withheld from the Order. What else should I call it?”

“Why do you believe this to be vital knowledge, Master Dooku?” asked Yaddle diplomatically.

“We know well enough why, Master Yaddle,” responded Saessee Tiin. “Master Dooku has not been discreet about his beliefs.”

“I have not,” Dooku confirmed. “There is a great fountain of knowledge the Order ignores by refusing to study the Sith at length: their beliefs, their downfall. Especially when we have such a prime example of their—“

“It is too dangerous,” interrupted Tiin, clearly Dooku’s most vocal opponent in this debate. Qui-Gon shifted where he stood; it seemed clear to him that this was a long-standing disagreement between the two Masters.

Speaking for the first time since the meeting began, Sifo Dyas spoke up. “Not everyone believes that to be the case, Master Tiin.” All heads shot to look at the young Master. A specific change in Dooku’s demeanor took place, though Qui-Gon couldn’t quite place what the change was. Sifo continued, “Many Jedi, before Dooku and myself ever took up this stance, believed there to be some good in studying our greatest enemy.”

“And many of those Jedi also fell to the dark side,” Tiin responded.

“True. But some did not,” Dyas’ eyes narrowed. “Shall I recount the writings of Saph Urk, Lux Horatio…”

“Enough,” Kit Fisto chimed in. “Master Dooku, let’s give the Order credit where credit’s due. Our librarians sometimes hold seminars about the history of the Sith. Even your own apprentice has attended one and clearly learned information that proved valuable. Despite Master Tiin’s words, the Council is not of the opinion that all knowledge about the Sith must be locked away and never discussed, like some taboo. We do strive to educate.”

“It is not enough,” Dooku answered simply.

Qui-Gon took a breath. “Masters, perhaps an explanation of what we found…” he ventured. All eyes turned on him and weighed his words. His heart momentarily stopped, but he was beginning to feel the same frustration as his Master. Why was the Council so hesitant to address this? “It was clearly strong in the dark side.”

Finally, Yoda spoke. “Unsettled you, it did, Qui-Gon,” the old Master observed. He sighed. “Right, the boy may be.” Yoda held a long gaze with Kit Fisto, who took a reluctant breath before sitting forward and launching into the history that Qui-Gon and all students of the Temple knew well.

Thousands of years ago, the Great Sith War had just ended leaving the Four Masters as the only surviving Jedi. The recovering Republic wished to never see such a threat to the Jedi again. So, the Republic granted the Four Masters land on Coruscant, near the sacred spire where the Temple now sits, on which to build a base like those on Ossus and Falang Minor. However, the Four did not wish for Jedi to be used as battle pawns again.

“They asked for the freedom to study the Force on their own terms,” Qui-Gon added to Fisto’s account. He remembered this part of their history with great clarity.

“Correct, Padwan.” Fisto continued. “The Republic honored their desire and they began building the Temple on a site, the Sacred Spire, with great importance. A site where the Force is extremely strong and focused. We do not hide this fact from students of the Order. What is withheld is that the Four were not the first to build on this spot.”

Centuries before the Four, the Sith had been the first to discover the qualities of the Sacred Spire centuries before the Four. The Sith had erected the shrine as a place to meditate on the power of the dark side. However, after the Sith were defeated in the Great War, ownership of the land was granted to the Four. The belief was that erecting a ziggurat Temple inhabited by light-side users would counteract the dark side, which had been nurtured in years past. Plans were made, building began, and the tenants of the Order were written. However, eventually one of the Four turned on his peers, led astray by the power of the dark side. He slaughtered many citizens and nearly succeeded in killing the remaining Jedi before they overpowered him. He was summarily executed by the Republic. Terrified by the power of the shrine and danger of Force users, the Republic threatened to end construction of the Temple. They wished to lay waste to the spire, believing the knowledge and existence of the shrine to be a threat to peace. The Three managed to allay their fears and complete construction of the Temple.

“After that, any record of the shrine was locked away in the Jedi’s library vaults where it remained for the thousands of years to come, only for the eyes of the Council,” Fisto finished.

“Until today,” Tiin pointed out, a sharp look at Dooku. “You see now why any mention of the shrine was kept secret.”

Dooku paused a moment before responding, and Qui-Gon took the opportunity to speak. “I see the contrary: couldn’t ignorance of this shrine be as much a threat as its existence? ‘A secret kept is a weapon created,’ is it not, Master Fisto?” Qui-Gon mentally congratulated himself for the reference to the Master’s ancient studies class he’d been forced to take two years ago. “Just now, you yourself said the shrine corrupted one of the Four. Could there not be some consequences of such an artifact’s proximity still?”

Qui-Gon noticed Yoda sit forward, wrinkling his brow. But, the green Master was decidedly quiet on this point.

“You are clearly Dooku’s apprentice, young one,” Saesee Tiin remarked. There was no praise in his tone. The use of the term ‘young one’ made Qui-Gon wince.

It was Sifo Dyas who spoke up now. “I’m inclined to agree with Padawan Jinn.”

“We have no reason to believe that the shrine offers any threat. For centuries, we have been unaffected,” Yael Poof said, dismissing the concern.

“There are more things than we can possibly know,” Qui-Gon said, with a glance to Dooku. More and more, Qui-Gon was beginning to question the Council’s decision. He was baffled that the Council refused to entertain the thought of the shrine’s danger. After all, hadn’t Master Yoda been the one to tell him the Force worked in mysterious ways?

Qui-Gon felt a brief surge of frustration from Tiin, Poof, and some of the other members.

It was Yaddle who spoke, though. “Perhaps you are right, Padawan. But this Council has weighed all the evidence it’s seen over the years. The Force appears to be in balance.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Dooku, at last. “True balance only comes from study of both sides of the Force.”

“Once again, I find myself siding with Dooku.” Dyas rubbed his temples before continuing, his voice raising. “The Sith texts and shrine offer a unique opportunity to learn the nature of the Force. The Council has no right to keep this knowledge from the rest of the Order. And now that Master Dooku has discovered it, we have no right to decide for the rest of the Order—“

“Master Dyas,” Yaddle spoke, her eyes shooting a warning to Dyas. “By very definition, the Council decides for the rest of the Order. Do not forget yourself.”

At that, Dyas went silent, his composure reigned in again.

“A _true_ Jedi knows the dangers of seeking out anything from the dark side. For centuries, this secret has been kept. It will continue to be kept,” Yaddle firmly stated.

A finality rang in her words, and even Dooku knew better than to continue disagreeing. Yaddle sat back, weary of the mediating she’d been doing throughout this meeting, but she’d been clear where she—and the Council—stood on this topic.

“Very well,” Dooku said through slightly clenched teeth. His face was once again stony and distanced. “Come, Padawan.”

As master and apprentice made their way for the Council chamber doors, Yoda’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “Forgot something, have you, hm?”

Without turning, Dooku simply said, “Thank you, Masters, for your time.” Then he continued his path to the exit, his Jedi robes swirling up in his fast pace. Qui-Gon bowed to the Masters and followed after Dooku, his long legs swinging with purpose.

Once out of the chambers, Qui-Gon released the tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding in his shoulders and back. His mind was racing with doubts and questions that the Council had done nothing to dispel. He wanted to discuss them with his master, but it was clear that the conversation was over. Dooku’s thoughts were miles away from his Padawan.

“I will see you back at our quarters,” was all he said to Qui-Gon, before veering off down a hallway. Qui-Gon took the cue and did not follow, instead walking sluggishly towards the mess hall. The events of the day had left him hungry and mentally drained. Briefly, he hoped he’d see Tahl or Omar but that thought was washed away when he realized how little he felt like explaining why he’d been in the Council’s chambers all afternoon. Instead, he hoped for quiet solitude.

* * *

After replenishing himself with a hot meal, Qui-Gon had made his way back to their master-apprentice quarters and was now lying awake in his dark room. He could not still his mind, despite meditation and some yuka root tea. Were there ramifications of this Sith shrine? He did not know enough about the prophecies and the balance of the Force to even take a guess. The Force really was rather elusive at times; he felt confident that there were indeed things even the Council did not understand about it. And if so, what part did he play by keeping silent? He could not realistically spread knowledge of the shrine throughout the Order. To do so would be traitorous, regardless of his feelings towards the Council today. Did it even matter, if the Council had made up their mind long ago? A seed of doubt in the Council had been planted today, for better or worse. He sighed. No answers would come to him tonight. And Dooku would most likely have a grueling itinerary for him tomorrow. So, Qui-Gon willed his mind to silence and finally found himself falling gratefully into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a time jump...

A flurry of blue and green light illuminated the tones of heavy brush around three Jedi: Qui-Gon Jinn, Tahl, and Omar Dodd. The three newly knighted young Masters fought their way towards a volley of blaster fire, deflecting bolts with their lightsabers. The group they’d been tracking had caught sight of them—all according to plan—and the three Jedi had quickly sprung into action. Surprised by their targets’ attentiveness, the trio of Jedi had wasted no time in taking up a defensive position, soon gaining the offense. They had slowly closed in on the group of aggressors.

Sweat began to break out on Qui-Gon’s forehead, the humidity doing little to keep him cool. Qui-Gon shrugged off his cape to free up his movement and saw Tahl do the same amidst the flurry of her green lightsaber. Omar seemed to be coping rather well, hardly phased and even a bit amused. _Show-off_, the snarky comment quickly bubbled to Qui-Gon’s consciousness. Brushing it aside, he took stock of his surroundings even as his reflexes kept up the deflection of bolts.

From orbit, the planet Orphean gave off a teal haze, the emerald and sapphire leaves of its foliage painting a mass of oceanic colors, varying in intensity, all exuding peace. However serene the atmosphere was and safe for humanoid functions, it was a damp environment, dangerous to machinery. It was this very fact that was causing tensions among the planet’s inhabitants. As of yet, the Orpheans had not formed a central government. They operated in clan systems, usually peaceful in operation. But when the Trade Federation had approached only a handful of the clan leaders with a proposition of sharing of technology made to withstand their wet planetary conditions in exchange for Republic sponsorship, the clan leaders left out of the bargain had made their offense known. A war was now waged between the Trade Federation-Clan allegiance and the disgruntled leaders: the “Remaining,” as they’d called themselves.

The Jedi Council had dispatched a handful of Jedi Knights, on behalf of a sympathetic Senate, to disarm the Trade Federation and conduct negotiations between the clans. Qui-Gon had found himself part of a team with two more experienced Jedi, Luminara Undulli and Ulla Moor, and his two close friends, Tahl and Omar. He and the younger Jedi masters, still Padawan-less and free to travel on many different missions as needed, had been tasked with tracking the Remaining’s forces through the dense brush of Orphean’s surface. Mounted on rusty ‘mechaniks,’ worn-down machines developed and operated for centuries to poorly endure the planet, the Remaining had been marching on an uneven path towards a known Trade Federation camp. The reports given to the Jedi had detailed the clunky nature of their rides, describing them as an unorganized mass; as a result, Master Undulli had seen fit to task the three inexperienced Jedi Masters with breaking off the Remaining’s march. The Remaining had a reputation for targeting satellite civilian operations with charges, according to clan reports; so, as loss of life followed this rebellious group in droves, three Jedi should be able to handle the assignment.

In theory, Qui-Gon and his peers were to provide a distraction for the older Masters who were currently working with the Trade Federation to surprise the Remaining and gain an upper hand in negotiations. But, in execution, the three Jedi had found the clan’s reports had substantially underestimated the prowess of the rebellious group. Their straining efforts to stall the group’s march were proving difficult to maintain.

“Up!” came a shout from Tahl. Qui-Gon and Omar both threw their gaze towards the treeline in time to see a Remaining sniper taking aim. No, not sniper, he corrected as the armored woman hefted a grenade launcher onto her shoulder. She took aim. Without time to think, the Force bubbled a warning and Qui-Gon followed its pulse, leaping out of the way of a sharply aimed grenade. A blast of moist dirt and plants erupted in a volcanic mass. A deep gash in the ground where he’d been just seconds before reminded him of the danger they were in. They may just be a distraction, but the physical danger was real. And the Remaining’s forces were much larger and much more skilled then they’d previously thought.

“You okay, brother?” Omar shouted above the din.

He only had time for a curt “Yes,” as two Remaining rushed him, attempting to corner him against a cluster of trees. With a calculated swing of his lightsaber, the two fell and Qui-Gon rejoined his friends in the volley. After a long trip to Orphean, his muscles thanked him for the action even as his conscience reeled against the deaths. A rather violent distraction, he noted bitterly.

The three Jedi were making progress—and the Remaining knew it, too. They had begun to close ranks and form a defense along a river. Thankfully, the river prevented them from retreating; its rushing waters threatened a watery grave and the use of their ‘mechanik’ transports to cross was equally discouraged by the loud roar of foam. Sensing his friends had drawn the same conclusion, he felt their movements fall into sync, almost a dance shared among them. Their familiarity with each other’s battle tactics provided them an edge. They had sparred enough in the Jedi Temple Padawan rooms to understand each other’s instincts.

A cry rang out. Qui-Gon shot a glance towards Omar, who was now doubled down behind a rather large, fallen log clutching his shoulder. The barrage of fire showed no sign of slowing. Qui-Gon sensed his friend’s pain double and he began to fear the worst; his feet found the most efficient path towards the log, deflecting fire as he moved.

When he reached Omar, the Zobrak was leaning back against the log. Qui-Gon knelt quickly down beside him, keeping an eye on the movement of the soldiers firing at them. A cursory scan showed his friend had suffered a blaster shot to the left shoulder, right above his clavicle. Not fatal, Qui-Gon thought. A glance at his friend’s face showed that while the wound may not be fatal…

“Hurts like a bantha.” The words hissed out of Omar’s mouth.

In response, Qui-Gon sent a wave of reassurance and placed a hand on Omar’s hand.

“Can you move, friend?”

“I suppose I have to. Not much chance of success without me, eh?” Omar’s face had regained some color as he gave a chuckle.

“We’d be lost without you,” Qui-Gon answered dryly.

The two exchanged a meaningful glance. After a few more breaths, Omar was ready, picking up his lightsaber with his right hand. He’d have to fight off-handed. They each took a breath and bolted back into action.

To draw attention away from them, Tahl had begun crossing to the opposite side of the Remaining’s group, drawing the blunt of their fire in her direction. Taking an unspoken cue, Omar began to cross to the right side, cutting off any exit opportunities for their opponents. Qui-Gon continued his march head-on. He felt the Force flowing around him, moving his limbs almost without any conscious thought on his part.

Despite Omar’s slightly slower reflexes and injury, their unspoken tactic was working. Qui-Gon could sense the uncertainty beginning to ripple among the group. The woman he’d deduced as their leader began speaking into a device on her shoulder. At this point, the Jedi were more or less on top of the Remaining, but that outgoing communication would spell complications. The last thing they needed was for their so-called distraction to turn into a call-to-arms.

“I’ll cover!” came another shout from Tahl. Qui-Gon sent a wave of thanks her direction, taking her meaning, and simultaneously sprang into action. The Force sent him bounding over the line of Remaining, coming face-to-face with the leader. The look of shock marking her grotesque features turned immediately to determination as she pulled an energized dirk from her belt, almost quicker than Qui-Gon’s eyes could catch. In one smooth motion, she thrust the point toward his midsection, barely missing him with her long arms as his reflexes carried him backwards. Having recovered his balance, a swift kick of his boot sent the dirk flying out of her scarred hands. He brought his lightsaber blade to a halt in front of her neck.

Tahl and Omar had managed to corner most of the Remaining. A tense moment of stillness hung in the humid air as their opponents weighed options. The fight was over, but they were not out of danger yet; should the group attempt a break, the three Jedi would not be able to keep every body at bay. Slowly, the captain reached for her communication device, coming to a halt with Qui-Gon’s words.

“Don’t try it.”

The tall woman merely snarled in response. Her entire body was frozen in defiance, but she would not try anything.

A loud blaring alarm rang out and the lumbering vehicles of the Trade Federation emerged on the other side of the river. A collective despair rang out from the Remaining and Qui-Gon knew it was over.

“Turn around,” Tahl told one of her captives, a man of about 35 standard years. The man’s thick eyebrows rose and a smirk betrayed what would have been a cheerful pleasantness in any other circumstance.

“With pleasure. You got some plans for me later?” he purred sardonically. To this, he received a gruff push as Tahl roughly bound his hands. Qui-Gon gave a small smile. The man did himself no favors just then; Tahl had little patience for condescending remarks and Qui-Gon did not pity the man.

Omar and Qui-Gon followed suit with their charges, less verbal than Tahl’s had been. For that, Qui-Gon was grateful. These soldiers had been responsible for the deaths of many people and he did not wish to debate the finer points of captivity with them.

* * *

No less than seven hours later and well into the night, Qui-Gon, Tahl, and Omar were settled around a small campfire outside of the Trade Federation camp. Masters Unduli and Moor were still speaking with the Trade Federation and Republic delegates, attempting to come to an agreement with the clan leaders. They had dismissed the younger Jedi to accompany Omar to the infirmary. While he had been tended to, Qui-Gon sat with Tahl in silence.

“It easily could have been either of us,” Tahl had said quietly.

“Yes,” was all Qui-Gon had been able to say. Omar’s had been a close call that had rattled them both.

Once Omar had emerged with a bandaged shoulder, Tahl had thrown a punch at his left arm, eliciting a grunt from Omar. He shot an angry glare at her.

“Don’t do that again,” she’d said, and walked off.

“Good to see you’re fine, too!” Omar had shot back.

Now, around the campfire, they’d been composing reports of the days’ events and sharing a stark meal. Omar had continued a healthy regimen of complaint about his shoulder, how uncomfortable the ground was, and the mist in the air—more or less, back to himself. Qui-Gon, however, had been quieter.

“Alright, speak, man. What's gnawing at you?” Tahl smirked at Qui-Gon over her plate of mashed protein cubes and Felucian grains.

Swallowing a bite of his own, Qui-Gon paused a moment. “I feel a weight on me. About the day’s events—whether we accomplished anything of—of value.”

“Whether it was worth it?” Tahl echoed back. He nodded. “I’ve asked myself that, too.”

“Hold on, now,” Omar spoke up. “We got ‘em, right? We brought their march to a halt, the Federation got there in time, and zap! All is sorted.” His shoulder was still tight and range of motion was limited as he reached for more pata bread. The rich, sticky cake had sated their appetites—and sweet tooth—well.

“Maybe, but you also got a chunk of your shoulder almost blown out,” Tahl said.

“And look at me now. Mobile enough to do this!” Omar chucked a piece of pata bread with deftness at Tahl’s face, which she caught. The tactic did little to distract her.

“Not the point and you know it.”

“Not the point, no—it was a blaster bolt,” retorted Omar, in good humor.

Now the piece of pata came flying back at Omar. Omar caught it in his mouth and promptly swallowed the dense sweet. Qui-Gon chuckled at this, which earned him a sharp glance from Tahl. As Omar washed the piece down with water from his canteen, a more somber look fell on his face.

“Idiot, we all accept the risks,” he said.

“I know,” said Tahl. Then she fell silent. It was Qui-Gon’s turn for dessert and he shifted forward for a piece of pata. Its weight in his hand, however minimal, emboldened him to voice his thoughts.

“Stopping the Remaining was necessary, but the means seemed…miscalculated.”

Tahl and Omar looked at him then traded glances. _So we’ve all been thinking it_, Qui-Gon thought, relieved.

“To place three relatively new Jedi masters against a terrorist cell’s force…” he continued.

The silence continued. Clearly, none of them knew exactly how to process the days events.

Omar threw up his hands. “Look. Ever since I went down, I’ve been asking myself what exactly we were doing there. I get what we were told: distract the Remaining enough for the Trade Federation’s forces to get close. And we did it damn well! But were we just bait? A target for them to focus on? Is that all we were?” He sat back on his hands, gingerly, grimacing slightly at his shoulder’s discomfort with the motion.

“It feels that way,” Tahl said quietly.

“Maybe it does. But—“ Omar squinted his eyes “—we were entrusted with an important role. Bait, yes, but we all saw: bait can easily turn to victim.” He raised his shoulder to underline his point. “The Masters trusted us with this task because we were capable.”

“I’m not arguing with that, Omar,” Qui-Gon said. “I know that the Masters think we’re capable. I’m more concerned with the fact that they’d risk us in this way.”

“It was a risk, but like I said, we all accept the risks when we become Padawans.”

“Omar, you’re not understanding. I think it was a miscalculated risk. Unnecessary.” Qui-Gon sat forward to look at his friend, eyes pleading him to see how his welfare had been in needless danger.

“They don’t have the right to be reckless,” broke in Tahl. “Those forces were much stronger than we thought.”

“I do get it, guys,” Omar said with a sharp edge in his voice. He sat forward, as well. “I was scared. I questioned our Masters, too. I’m still a little angry about my shoulder—hurts like the devil. But the difference is: I don’t think it was reckless. I think they had to gamble that we could handle it. The Remaining had to be stopped.”

Tahl shook her head. “There had to be another way.”

“What other way?” Omar asked, point blank.

“Send us with government forces, open a channel of negotiation!”

“The Remaining has been unresponsive to negotiation in the past and the window of time for stopping their march was closing, Tahl. They had to send us.”

“Then send us with backup!” she shouted.

“They didn’t think we needed backup,” Omar said, shrugging.

“But that’s exactly our point, Omar. They made a decision based off faulty accounts and as a result, we nearly lost you,” Qui-Gon spoke up.

“You almost died,” Tahl added.

Another silence lapsed over the group. Omar rubbed his temples. “I know. I know, guys. I’m not some oaf just blowing through life.” A twinge of hurt colored his words. Tahl threw Qui-Gon a concerned glance.

Qui-Gon, closest to Omar, placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “We know you aren’t, Omar. We’ve never thought you were an oaf.” Just speaking those words caused the trio to chuckle slightly. “We are just working through our thoughts.”

In a last attempt at defending their senior Master’s actions today, Omar said, “In every moment, you can only call the shots to the best of your ability. Master Undulli and Master Moor couldn’t have known some of the information was faulty in the time they had to make a call.”

“Which cost both sides loss of life that could have been prevented—” Qui-Gon began.

“And what about the loss of life the Remaining has inflicted? We can sit and debate this, but the council will ultimately address both sides of that argument with our Masters. They’re not off the hook,” Omar said with finality. “And neither are we, really. We all accepted the misinformation.” At this, the three of them nodded. Moments passed with this weight hanging in the breeze.

“They had to trust the experts in a situation they don’t know, just like we had to trust their tactical decision,” Tahl finally mused. Her features displayed less confusion than before. She stole a glance at Qui-Gon. “Hindsight is everything, and all that…” she trailed off.

Omar nodded. “They weighed the options and the dangers and came to the best conclusion they could. There’s a balance there, balance of weighing risks.”

“A poor balance it is that requires loss of life,” Qui-Gon murmured.

His body fatigued from the healing it’d been forced to undergo, Omar laid flat on his mat, with a deep sigh of playful frustration. “Maybe you’re right, Qui. But I feel like death and we aren’t going to solve this philosophical debate tonight. Now, can we please get some sleep? I’m so tired I could sleep until the Sith rise again.”

Quickly, his breath deepened and their friend was sleeping heavily. Tahl shook her head in amazement. “He’s absolutely ridiculous,” she laughed lightly, a welcome sound after the day they’d had. With another look to Qui-Gon, she added, “We aren’t always going to agree with their decisions. We can just try to understand how they make them.”

She didn’t sound completely convinced, but clearly Omar’s words had affected her. She gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her citrine eyes and settled down for the night. Thankful at least his dear friend was at peace for tonight anyways, Qui-Gon could not bring himself to fall asleep right away. Balance was a concept that he and Dooku had discussed at length during his apprenticeship. Dooku believed in a cosmic scale, mostly due to some prophecies and texts that Qui-Gon had never fully understood. Perhaps Dooku and Omar were right in seeing every decision as a gamble, a balance between what is known and what could go wrong. Perhaps he would understand that some day. Today, he just felt worn.

Slowly, he fell back onto his own sleeping mat, his eyes taking in the black and white tapestry of the stars and night sky above them. There was just enough light to illuminate the forms of his two friends as they slumbered; he felt the warmth of companionship and gratitude in his heart. They seemed to always find a way to understand each other.

The rules against attachments be damned; these two would be his friends for life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! Life got crazy! But here you go, just a bit of bonding and fluff for you first week of October. :) Enjoy! Next week, thing's will pick up...

It had been months since the mission on Orphean. Qui-Gon had fallen back into the same routine at the Temple more or less. His mornings were spent in meditation and study. He would grab a quick lunch-meal, oftentimes running into an acquaintance or two. More research and studies were reserved for the afternoon until his brain was sufficiently restless—at which point he would meet Tahl, and occasionally Omar, for some sparring in an unoccupied training room. He most looked forward to the evenings for that reason. When Omar did join, he usually brought with him a treat or two: whether tea sweets from Naboo, Felucian chocolate, or a Kashykk-fried snack from the marketplace near the Temple entrance. The trio of friends would spar to point of exhaustion, then lay out on the mats to enjoy their delicious gifts from Omar.

Sitting on the floor of the practice room, polishing his lightsaber, Qui-Gon waited patiently for his friends to arrive. He took this time to center his mind and prepare for the fatigue to come. Readying his body for the marathon of dueling, and engrossed in speculation about what surprise Omar might have for them tonight, he didn’t hear the door open with a _swoosh_.

“Already mourning your loss tonight?” Tahl called out, jogging towards Qui-Gon. Her dark hair was pulled into a no-nonsense bun and she was cracking her knuckles. A smirk flitted over Qui-Gon’s face.

“Perhaps I’m mourning yours,” he responded.

Her laugh, joined with Omar’s, rang out and the space suddenly felt alive. The electricity of competition and anticipation began to fill the padded room.

“Let’s get on with it, then. I’m ready to beat you both,” Omar chirped. He stretched his arms above his head and pulled up each knee, stretching. After his injury, Omar’s shoulder had healed quite nicely with time and rest on his side. Though, he complained that it still ached anytime the weather was turning—or the cafeteria food was bad. Qui-Gon had more than once questioned the correlation of his complaints.

“Yes, let’s.” Qui-Gon had stood by now and ignited his lightsaber, practicing a few spins and lunges. “Shall we tournament?”

“Nah. Let’s have at it. I’m aching for some real exercise. And remember: continuous dueling, no officiating breaks…” Omar balanced himself back on his haunches, resting into a ready stance. Tahl and Qui-Gon mirrored him.

“Mind your pride, Omar. You’re out of practice,” quipped Tahl, before she made a leap towards Omar, swinging her blade at his feet.

Out of practice he may have been, but Omar deftly stepped out of the way of her attack, using his backwards momentum to arc a circle around Qui-Gon. Defensively, Qui-Gon moved parallel to Omar, keeping a careful eye on Tahl.

Without so much as a breath, the three began the breakneck business of parrying, dodging, and striking. Often, Qui-Gon and Omar’s green blades were forced to team up against the furious flashes of Tahl’s yellow blade. Standing just below 6-feet, Tahl’s body cycled through economical and fluid movements, something which Qui-Gon found difficult for his own large frame. His strength lay in temperence and planning. His master, Dooku, had drilled into him the value of a _dejarik_-like approach to dueling: stay steps ahead of your opponent and envision multiple venues of attack. Prepare for your opponent’s mistakes.

Seeing Omar slip on the edge of the training mat, Qui-Gon swiveled his torso and thrust his lightsaber towards Omar’s exposed hip, stopping it well before contact. Omar let out a curse. The action stopped, the three nodded to each other in acknowledgment of the point, and the duel continued.

After three more points had been won, placing Tahl in the lead, the training room significantly warmed due to the sweat of the three’s efforts. Concentration became more and more vital as their muscles began to fatigue. Five or more minutes passed in between each individual point, to say nothing of the stalemates they reached.

Before they had registered the time, an hour had passed. Tahl was still in the lead, followed closely by Qui-Gon. Omar begrudgingly continued in the match in last place, claiming his “victory was inevitable.”

Taking a short breath, Tahl’s twinkling eyes leered at Omar. “Holding up?” Omar’s hands rested on his knees as he bent to take the tension out of his shoulder.

“Feeling….fresh…and well-rested,” Omar breathed out in between gasps of air. “How about you, Qui?”

“Feeling better than you look, my friend,” was Qui-Gon’s short response. Tahl let out a sound close to a snort and turned her back, laughter threatening to bubble out of her.

Qui-Gon had planned for this. The Force propelled him faster than Tahl could completely respond. His form was already practically on top of her, swinging his blade, her instincts barely quick enough to send her on a roll underneath his airborne figure. Omar had also seen the opening and had sprinted to trap her between her two friends’ aggressive parries.

If Tahl felt any fear of losing her lead, her face did not show it. Her brow a serene crown over sparkling eyes, she kept up a defensive flurry of blocks and limber leaps, keeping her frustratingly out of the mens’ reach.

“You could…just…give up—now…” Qui-Gon breathed out, his lungs beginning to feel the ache of his determined, ineffectual blows. Omar and Qui-Gon swung at her in unison and—

Tahl caught both of their blades against hers. The mixture of lights lit her caramel skin and she flashed her white teeth, her whiskey eyes illuminated by confidence and the citrine of her blade. She looked deeply at Qui-Gon.

“Never,” she whispered. She sent both of their blades backwards with a surprising amount of force—given how long they’d been at this—and flipped above Omar’s head. Qui-Gon let himself pause to marvel at her agility. But Omar had already decided his friend’s fate. Anticipating her landing spot, he threw a roundhouse kick and dislodged her weapon from her hand as she descended from the air. Her frustrated grunt called the duel to a halt.

Silence hung as the three panted from the exertion, looking bewildered as her hilt lay useless on the floor, blade still ignited. Tahl’s eyes betrayed her surprise and she slowly turned to deliver Omar a smoldering look that would have turned any opponent to stone. Qui-Gon held his breath.

Then she laughed. And laughed again. Joined quickly by Omar, their hitched, loud cackling drew Qui-Gon in as well. The padded room seemed to shake as the sounds of their joy shook the walls. Wiping their eyes after a prolonged fit of laughter and desperately trying to catch their breath, they slid onto the floor. Qui-Gon couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard and he patted Omar’s shoulder hard.

They enjoyed each other’s company as their heart-rates silently slowed and took stock of their bodies. They were splayed out, their heads mere inches from each other, like the rays of a Tattooine sun. Qui-Gon could feel a knot building in his right side and quads, a sign that he’d perhaps twisted his limbs beyond their means—he’d have to stretch more thoroughly next time.

Soon, Tahl spoke. “You son of a bantha.” A note of cheer was still detectable in her voice.

“Clear out of your hand,” Omar wheezed, with a swipe of his foot, which chopped through the air then crashed back down onto the mat.

“I believe that’s an end-all. Omar is our champion,” Qui-Gon added diplomatically.

“I believe you’re right, Qui,” Omar confirmed, laughter still humming over his voice.

“Son. Of. A. Bantha,” Tahl repeated.

“Listen, you take big risks, you chance the bottom-side of Omar’s foot,” Qui-Gon jabbed.

“Oh, is that right?” Tahl sent a fist smacking into Qui-Gon’s left shoulder. “As I recall, you were the one who attacked me with my back turned.”

“I saw my window, and I took it.”

“I did say no officiated breaks,” Omar reasoned.

“Uh-huh,” Tahl said, unconvinced of the fairness in this situation, but resigned to her loss.

“Well, as consolation for being defeated, I brought some goodies,” Omar said as he jumped up and crossed to a small bag he’d placed by the door. Reaching in, he pulled out three brightly wrapped mounds, each as big as a communicator. They barely fit in his palm.

Qui-Gon sat up, and reached out a hand of peace to Tahl, who took it and pulled herself up. They waited expectantly as Omar described where he’d purchased the gifts.

“As you both know, as of last week, I have taken an interest in the grain markets of Felucia. During my research, I met an older man in the marketplace today who promised me ‘flavor beyond compare.’ These are the spiced chocolates of the Felucian capital. He assured me they will blow our minds,” Omar said with an air of pride.

Quizzically, Qui-Gon and Tahl each took one brightly wrapped sweet. They slowly unwrapped and popped them into their mouths. Omar followed suit. Slowly, the three chewed the candy. It was rather thick and the flavor soon began to turn. Qui-Gon and Tahl gave each other pointed looks.

“Thah ish—“ Tahl began through a full mouth. She coughed, holding the wrapper near her face. Her eyes watered with restraint. 

"Itz certainleh—“Qui-Gon attempted, slightly out of breath from fighting the flavor of the treat. His eyes also watered.

“AWFUL!” spat Omar. He discarded the messy contents of his mouth back into the wrapper. His face read a mix of disappointment and fear for his life.

With relief, Qui-Gon and Tahl also spat out their unfortunate sweets. Chuckling, Qui-Gon wrapped his. “It certainly…blew my mind,” he said.

“Why is it so….damned _chalky_?” Tahl asked.

“And bitter. That piece of _poodoo_ doesn’t deserve the title of chocolate,” Omar bit the words.

“I’m sorry, Omar,” Qui-Gon said, genuinely feeling for his friend’s disappointment. Omar’s love of food and flavors rivaled Master Yoda’s love of riddles.

Omar made a gurgle somewhere between dismissive and angry. “Forget it. See if I ever purchase again from that merchant’s booth.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's a bit shorter this week. Needed a transition, and it ends at the best place before next week's chapter. Thanks for sticking with it, if you're still here. Next week will begin to answer some questions about this shrine...

The rest of their evening together was spent walking the Gardens of Contemplation until they all, spent, found a patch of grass to rest on. After such a strenuous duel, their muscles needed warming down and gentle use. So, Qui-Gon had suggested a stroll in his favorite part of the Jedi Temple.

Now, sitting on the grass and watching the waterfall across from them, Omar spoke up.

“Anyone know when their next assignment is?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Haven’t heard anything.”

“Me neither.” Omar frowned.

“The Padawan trials are coming up,” Tahl spoke quietly.

They each breathed deeply. They were new Masters, barely 6 months into Knighthood, but Master Yoda had already approached them about choosing a Padawan. In just over three weeks, Jedi students turning 13 years old would be competing in dueling tournaments. It was meant as a way to display what they’d learned through the years, as well as introduce them to prospective Masters. It was a rather daunting event for both the young students and the Jedi Knights who attended.

Silence continued to hang until Tahl broke it, desperate for something less life-changing to discuss.

“Have you heard about the new Senator?” she asked.

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, ever so secretly. “Tahl…”

“I know you lump all politicians together—but I think this one may be different,” she interrupted.

“We can hope so,” said Omar. “What’s her name?”

“Shefta, I think—“ Tahl began.

“Kim Shefta. From Naboo, I believe,” Qui-Gon interrupted.

“Aha! So you have heard about her!” Tahl nudged him with her foot.

“I have. I am not oblivious to the Senate, just…extremely disinterested,” answered Qui-Gon.

“Our own secret political connoisseur!” Omar proclaimed with a raised eyebrow, goading for a reaction.

“Hardly.” Qui-Gon refused to take the bait. “She seems like most other politicians.”

“Sure, okay, she’s campaigning for herself—“ Tahl shifted into a criss-crossed position and it was evident to Qui-Gon that she intended to have this discussion. “—but she’s done a lot of good on Naboo. The senator apparently told her office she intends to improve relations with the Council.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t argue with the fact that relations between the Jedi Council and the Senate were strained. For good reason, Qui-Gon thought. “Is that a good thing?” he simply asked.

“I think so. Improved relations are always a good thing.”

“A Jedi never deals in absolutes,” quoted Omar with a wink. “But, I think I’m with Qui-Gon on this one. I don’t trust most Senators.”

“But what if we can trust this one?” Tahl asked. “She’s teamed up with scientists and made the energy sources on Naboo more efficient. Even the Queen there seems to trust her.”

“The Queens are never more than teenagers when they ascend,” Qui-Gon argued. Before Tahl could argue, he added, “They may be trained for office, but they’re still children. And Senator Shefta is fairly young as well, if I recall.” He gave a dismissive wave of the hand.

“So are we, Qui-Gon.” Tahl narrowed her eyes. “By your logic, we should be written off for our age, too. Would you push back the age of Knighthood?”

“That’s not what I meant, Tahl.”

“I know. But I’m pointing out where your reasoning has holes,” she said, a touch of playfulness lightening his mood. Talk of politics always aggravated him.

“Doing the light side’s work,” Omar quipped facetiously.

“I understand,” said Qui-Gon. “I’m glad to hear Senator Shefta has benefitted her world, and I’m glad she’s at least not ambivalent to the Jedi—we’ve had plenty of those. I just don’t trust the intentions of these Senators—any of them.” He intended for the discussion to end there.

“And what about the Council? Do you trust them?” Tahl asked.

“What?” Qui-Gon asked, caught a bit off guard.

“Do you trust the Council to make those judgment calls?” Tahl asked. “Shouldn’t they be able to decipher who they can trust and what’s best for the Order?”

Her question was innocent enough, merely meant as devil’s advocate. But Qui-Gon felt his body tense and his breath leave in a huff. He did not respond, eyes watching the ebb and flow of a nearby waterfall. Without meaning to, his mind was occupied thinking about the secret he’d kept for years, the reason the Council hadn’t earned his complete trust: the shrine. He desperately wanted to discuss his misgivings—here was the perfect opportunity—but he couldn’t. His friends could never know about the Shrine. His heart constricted with the shame of deceit, a feeling he’d been able to push aside for years.

“Isn’t that their job?” Tahl prodded again, taking his silence as agreement. “Twelve Masters making responsible decisions for the Order. That’s why they exist.”

Qui-Gon simply gave a nod. He’d made a promise to the Council and to Dooku to tell no one about the Shrine. Unbidden, at the thought of Dooku, he also recalled the prophecies that his Master had told him about only briefly.

“That was enthusiastic,” remarked Omar.

“Qui-Gon?” Tahl asked, her eyes attempting to read his expression. If anyone would be able to, she would. He had to change the subject and quickly.

“It is why they exist, yes. No one disagrees with you there, Tahl,” he responded with the most genuine smile he could muster, which wasn’t too difficult when he saw how passionate Tahl was about politics and the workings of bureaucracy. She was dear to him, as was Omar, which made this so much harder…shaking this thought off, he made to stretch his limbs, with a grunt. “It is late, my friends. I have more studying to do tomorrow—and I’m afraid you’ve both worn me out.”

“Getting old, Qui,” Omar said. “But so’m I. I’ll see you both tomorrow to win again.”

“We’ll see what the Force has in store,” Qui-Gon laughed.

As the group formed ranks and filed out of the Gardens towards the Knight’s quarters, Tahl sidled up next to him and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, causing his heart to clench.

“Qui-Gon.” A whisper. Just his name. She knew something was off—and normally, that would be enough to open up to her. But not today, not about this. Qui-Gon felt his throat tighten with shame once more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for another duel. I must pick up my books for the morning’s studies,” was all he said. “I’m fine,” he added to assuade her.

He had known it wouldn’t work, even as he uttered it. He felt the concern and skepticism emanating in waves from her, but he veered off down another hallway, leaving his friends for the night. He made his way to the library, heart heavier for their company. But he hadn’t lied to them. He intended to gather materials for study. Tomorrow, he would begin digging deeper into the history of the Temple and those blasted prophecies which Dooku had mentioned at Dexter’s diner years ago.


End file.
